Headstrong
by Orwell is watching-xoxo
Summary: "Circling your, circling your, circling your head, contemplating everything you ever said." Miles and Bass had their own fantasies about the fate of the world. Set during the mid-season finale.


**Blame this all on Spotify. Songs get in my head and they produce stories. What? That's a good excuse!**

**Anyway, this is focused on Miles and Bass, but it's still along the same timeline with my other fics. The title came from the song "Headstrong" by Trapt. **

**I own nothing. **

_**Revolution**_

Miles Matheson knew the day would come that he would have to fight his best friend to the death. No, Monroe wasn't his friend anymore. The man that he grew up with and brought into his family wasn't alive anymore. _He _killed Bass when he left the republic so many years ago. The power and the greed finally got to his former best friend, which was exactly why Miles left. He was afraid of what the power was doing to his _own_ head. It turned him into a merciless killer; Bass was heading down that road right when Miles left, he didn't want to stick around for it.

Bass had taken Miles' family, and that was the one thing that you did _not_ mess with. His brother was dead, his sister-in-law was being tortured, and his nephew had been kidnapped and tortured repeatedly. The former general was ready to storm into Bass' domain with guns a blazing.

When their eyes met for the first time, it was almost too hard to look away. Miles couldn't believe that it had come down to this. After all of these years, he had to face the one thing that he had been dreading. Some part of him, deep down, never gave up on Bass. That, maybe, one day he would just give up and leave the republic.

Miles remembered chasing each other around with their toy guns back when they were kids; they had been inseparable. No one could say one without the other, that was just how close they were. Times had changed, though, and now it was finally time to step up to bat. It was finally time to kill his best friend.

Bass flinched as he pictured himself and the former general having the time of their lives. Where _did _all of that time go? He and Miles were strangers at best now. The only family he had left was being sent to Boston, and God knew if she would want anything to do with him after all of this was over.

The two of them circled each other like a lion did its prey, clutching a gun that neither of them were quite ready to use. Bass could remind the older of the two that building the republic was his idea, but he figured that that wouldn't do much. The former general was convinced that it was all of Bass' fantasies.

Sebastian Monroe and Miles Matheson both had a headstrong mentality; as they began to fight, anyone in their right minds would know to stay away. Bass wanted his former best friend to back off and come back over to his side of the republic. Miles just wanted to take his former best friend on and get his family back. As far as he was concerned, the president wasn't anything to him.

"I _will _take you down," Matheson growled, blocking Monroe's next blow with his sword. Their guns had been forgotten about a while ago.

"Just remember, Miles," Bass grinned rather sadistically, "no matter what you think you've stopped? You still helped create it."

"Yeah," Miles threw back, their swords clanging against each other, "but I'll still get the satisfaction of taking you bastards down. You killed my brother, held my sister-in-law hostage. Did you really think I would just openly come back to you?"

"Never stopped you before," Bass chuckled, blue eyes crinkling in the corners. No matter what, that still managed to make the older man stop dead in his tracks. It made him think about the old Bass; the old Bass would have probably just put him in a playful headlock or something stupid along those lines.

Miles struggled to break free from where Bass had him pressed against the wall, the edge of his sword tickling him right across the jugular. "You've changed, Bass. I left because I was damn scared of what was going to happen next."

"I just want the lights. And I will do _whatever_ it takes to get them back on," the president growled, pinning the sword tighter against the older man's neck.

"And I will be right there to take you down," Miles rasped as he was being released from Bass' hold. "You're going about it the wrong way."

"It's the only way that'll get the job done," Bass jumped back a bit as his men came barging in. He looked between them and Miles, who had turned down his offer to come back to the republic; was his life really worth saving...?

Shaking away the memory of him and Miles as kids, he ordered his men to go through with it. Miles Matheson had to die.

Brown and blue eyes met, and the words "_kill him_" rang through the room, threatening to strangle everyone in its wake.

This was when the war became real…

**So, what did you think, guys? Really not feeling good tonight, so I doubt you'll see much more from me for now. **


End file.
